Category: Dates and Figs

You didn’t hear that, did
see innocent stars in the night
big and little dippers
and nothing more
they say

Be vague
be hidden
quoth the Raven, and
George Orwell
when you don’t hear
an explosive sound
you heard

Searched in wrong places.
Questions could seem like complaints
they say

Should not have searched
where beefs are regretted

Don’t care anymore because
you’re the only one I trust. How
would I complain if

some meteors speak
with streaking lines
written in the skies
without prejudice
for the discerning reader

Implicitly we know;
no? What’s to want
but you in the final days

Search not
want not

Dippers of naked truths can endure
shooting stars with canned laughter,
minor tyrants in major cites, if they
will pour their sweet sayings into
cups larger than the 16 ounce limit

Pompous nagging is
the supercilious song
of the dismissive mayor
to brow beat the middle poor

Under pompous nagging
and excessive taxes
many middle poor eat
too much cake and soda

but in the daily duping
frustration is easily hamburgered
with fast food fries and lotus soda

The high brow have their bread
the poor their cake and soda

It’s the obesity that’s
making the earthquakes
isn’t it? A pound of flesh.

Across the world
there are boom sounds heard
not earthquakes
not sonic booms
not mining major
not military
just obese quandaries
crashing together
like mettle on metal

Ancient trumpets seem to be
sounding to bring down
walls of ignorance and tyranny
even if at first with
minor keys to
songs of trivial annoyance

Boom sound times
are not sonic but mysterious, and
they keep a record of every word
won’t even let us drink our sweet sorrow
while they quote
Shakespeare in shallow ways
nannies of arrogance who think
broccoli will save the world

These elites are so smug
like sting rays sweeping volcanoes
under seafloor rugs

Should not have
searched for marinated moose steaks
’cause anyone with a moose
whose not looking up salads
and green things, must be
having second thoughts
about obedience

Hunting naked truths
and shooting stars
enduring canned laughter

There is news in the dry laugh:
an embarrassed meteor, pitfalls
and destiny dates, though

fig leaves do fall in pithy days with you
moist giggles in the morning dew

The can of dates is on sale
with the occasional pit
due to pitiful errors

But we have the era of
figments of imagination
the dried fig sweet when
meteors fall and we

collect meteor char
for the barbecue grill, though
no one has any
grilling questions, or
a steak in the truth fire

no one knows the source
of the delicious delusion sauce
that is the medium of solace

Media lies are very comforting
with vegetables and 16 ounce sodas
un-French fries with doomburgers
and trivial blooms without pollen

Repent and save
a calorie in end times

Eat your vegetables or be
hit with a drone, but

we will hide in ourselves together
indulge in our poetry with a rhythm
and smile when we lick a bit of cherry pie
off our faces, a bit with
billions of calories to savor

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Like this:

Be vague
be hidden
quoth the Raven, and
George Orwell
when you don’t hear
an explosive sound
you heard

Should not have searched
where beefs are regretted

Don’t care anymore because
you’re the only one I trust. How
would I complain if

some meteors speak
with streaking lines
written in the skies
without prejudice
for the discerning reader

Implicitly we know;
no? What’s to want
but you in the final days

Search not
want not

Dippers of naked truths can endure
shooting stars with canned laughter,
minor tyrants in major cites, if they
will pour their sweet sayings into
cups larger than the 16 ounce limit

Pompous nagging is
the supercilious song
of the dismissive mayor
to brow beat the middle poor

Under pompous nagging
and excessive taxes
many middle poor eat
too much cake and soda

but in the daily duping
frustration is easily hamburgered
with fast food fries and lotus soda

The high brow have their bread
the poor their cake and soda

It’s the obesity that’s
making the earthquakes
isn’t it? A pound of flesh.

Across the world
their are boom sounds heard
not earthquakes
not sonic booms
not mining major
not military
just obese quandaries
crashing together
like mettle on metal

Ancient trumpets seem to be
sounding to bring down
walls of ignorance and tyranny
even if at first with
minor keys to
songs of trivial annoyance

Boom sound times
are not sonic but mysterious, and
they keep a record of every word
won’t even let us drink our sweet sorrow
while they quote
Shakespeare in shallow ways
nannies of arrogance who think
broccoli will save the world

These elites are so smug
like sting rays sweeping volcanoes
under seafloor rugs

Should not have
searched for marinated moose steaks
’cause anyone with a moose
whose not looking up salads
and green things, must be
having second thoughts
about obedience

Hunting naked truths
and shooting stars
enduring canned laughter

There is news in the dry laugh:
an embarrassed meteor, pitfalls
and destiny dates, though

fig leaves do fall in pithy days with you
moist giggles in the morning dew

The can of dates is on sale
with the occasional pit
due to pitiful errors

But we have the era of
figments of imagination
the dried fig sweet when
meteors fall and we

collect meteor char
for the barbecue grill, though
no one has any
grilling questions, or
a steak in the truth fire

no one knows the source
of the delicious delusion sauce
that is the medium of solace

Media lies are very comforting
with vegetables and 16 ounce sodas
un-French fries with doomburgers
and saving trivia

Repent and save
a calorie in end times

Eat your vegetables or be
hit with a drone, but

we will hide in ourselves together
indulge in our poetry with a rhythm
and smile when we lick a bit of cherry pie
off our faces with
billions of calories

Boom times not sonic but mysterious, and
they keep a record of every word
won’t even let us drink our sweet sorrow
while they quote
Shakespeare in shallow ways
nannies of arrogance who think
broccoli will save the world

These elites are so smug
like sting rays sweeping volcanoes
under seafloor rugs

Should not have
searched for marinated moose steaks
’cause anyone with a moose
whose not looking up salads
and green things, must be
having second thoughts
about obedience

Hunting naked truths
and shooting stars
enduring canned laughter

There is news in the dry laugh:
an embarrassed meteor, pitfalls
and destiny dates, though

fig leaves do fall in pithy days with you
moist giggles in the morning dew

The can of dates is on sale
with the occasional pit
due to pitiful errors

But we have the era of
figments of imagination
the dried fig sweet when
meteors fall and we

collect meteor char
for the barbecue grill, though
no one has any
grilling questions, or
a steak in the truth fire

no one knows the source
of the delicious delusion sauce
that is the medium of solace

Media lies are very comforting
with vegetables and 16 ounce sodas
un-French fries with doomburgers
and saving trivia

Repent and save
a calorie in end times

Eat your vegetables or be
hit with a drone, but

we will hide in ourselves together
indulge in our poetry with a rhythm
and smile when we lick a bit of cherry pie
off our faces with
billions of calories